Hollow Within
by Noella-Ange
Summary: Sam and Dean are on the hunt for a creature that has been leaving a trail of heartless bodies.
1. Chapter 1

**Hollow Within**

_Disclaimer: Kripke owns the boys, much to my dismay._

* * *

The moon, high in the autumn night sky, shone like liquid silver on the rain soaked pavement of the parking lot. The rain storm that had passed through the area left the night air crisp and fresh. Not a sound was heard until the door to Lakeside Realty opened with a soft squeak. Kalina Randolph appeared with her briefcase and car keys in hand. After locking the office door, she turned for her car, only then noticing the man leaning against her trunk.

"Jesus, Harold, you scared the crap out of me!" She angrily walked past her soon-to-be ex-husband and unlocked her car door.

With a whine in his voice, Harold followed, "Kalina, please. I just need to talk to you. Why weren't you at our counseling session?"

"I wasn't there because I have no interest in saving this marriage. I have already explained this to you, and the therapist, a dozen times." She impatiently tossed her briefcase onto the passenger seat then climbed in. "I have an early day tomorrow, I have to go."

Harold stepped back just in time to narrowly avoid getting hit by her car door as it slammed. "Kalina, don't! Please, let's talk about this!"

Kalina barely gave him a second glance as she backed out. Harold watched her car as it made it's way out of the parking lot and down the street, until he could no longer see the tail lights.

His heart heavy with despair, he slowly made his way to his own vehicle. Climbing into the driver's seat, he had no energy or will to start the car and return to his empty, lonely apartment. He couldn't believe how quickly his marriage had disintegrated, and he surely didn't know why. He was doing everything he could think of to hold onto his wife, but nothing was working.

Realizing he couldn't sit here all night, he leaned forward to put the key in the ignition. An unconscious glimpse in the rear-view mirror revealed something in the backseat. Before he was even able to gasp, an arm snaked around the back of his seat and across his throat, jerking him back. He was effectively pinned in place.

The instinct to fight took over. He swung his fists behind him in hopes of hitting his assailant. At the same time, he bucked his body trying to dislodge the steel like grip that was cutting off his air.

Swatting Harold's arms away as if he were no stronger than a child, his attacker reached around with his right arm. Using only his hand, the assailant pressed his fingers into Harold's chest.

Harold fought harder as he felt the fingers break through his clothes and skin. As the pressure on his chest increased, his underlying bones snapped. With blood soaking through his shirt and spilling into his lap, Harold could no longer contain his screams of agony.

Just when he thought he couldn't be in any more pain, the attacker's hand ruptured his chest cavity. The last thing Harold ever saw was his still beating heart held inches from his own face.

SPNSPNSPN

Dean was shoveling maple syrup soaked pancakes into his mouth as he watched Sam stare intently at the newspaper on the other side of the booth. "What could possibly be so interesting that you would rather read than eat breakfast? Although, if my breakfast was an egg white omelet and whole grain toast, I would probably find the paper more interesting too."

"Hmm…What? I'm sorry, you say something?" Sam answered distractedly without looking up.

Dean sighed, "What'd you find?"

Finally acknowledging his brother, Sam smiled grimly. "I may have found a job. It seems two people in Stavrou, Colorado, have been found dead this week. With their hearts missing. The cops have no idea what they are dealing with, but," Sam smirked, "they pledge to bring the killer to justice."

Dean laughed, "Cops. Always a good source for amusement. Anyway, Stavrou isn't too far from here. You wanna check it out?"

"Definitely, missing hearts sounds like our kind of thing."

Once the food was eaten and the bill was paid, the brothers were on the road headed in the direction of Stavrou. The car windows were down allowing the cool air to flow through the interior. While Dean drove, Sam used the time to go through their father's journal.

"Hey, Dean. Listen to this. Four years ago, there was a rash of deaths in Lowe, South Dakota. Bodies were found without hearts. Think it might be the same thing?"

Dean thought for a moment, "I remember that case. Whatever it was, it was gone by the time Dad and I rolled into town. We spent two weeks in that town without finding a damn lead. So it's possible we're dealing with the same thing."

SPNSPNSPN

A short time later, the Impala rolled into Stavrou, Colorado. It was a relatively small town, with snow-capped mountains jutting skyward as a backdrop. After checking into the nearest motel and donning their suits, the brothers made their way to the medical examiner's office.

Flashing their freshly made FBI IDs to the young man behind the desk, Dean introduced them. "I'm Special Agent Byers and this is my partner, Special Agent Langly. We're with the Criminal Profiles Unit. I understand there's been another mysterious death recently?"

The young man's eyes sparked with excitement. "The CPU? Don't you guys deal with serial killers?"

Glancing at the name plate on the desk, Sam answered, "Yes, Mr. Reed, which is why we are here today. As part of our investigation, we need to get a look at Harold Randolph's body."

Reed's face fell, "I'm sorry agents, but Dr. McCarthy, the medical examiner, won't be in today. He's visiting his daughter and newborn grand-daughter at the hospital."

"Any chance you can let us take a look?" Dean asked. "We need to gather all the available information to assess the situation as quickly as we can before another death occurs."

Reed cocked his head to the side, deep in thought. After a few moments, he looked at Dean. "I suppose, being you _are _with the FBI, letting you in couldn't hurt." He led Sam and Dean down a short hallway to the left. Outside the door labeled "Morgue", Reed pulled out a ring of keys and unlocked the door.

Striding across the room, he opened drawer number 5, revealing a cloth draped body. "I'll be up front, holler if you need anything." Walking out the door, he left the brothers alone with Harold Randolph.

Without delay, Dean pulled back the cloth to expose the chest. Both brothers gasped at the complete destruction they saw before their eyes. Gesturing toward the jagged edges of the hole and the sharp ends of bone protruding from the wound, Dean commented, "The heart definitely wasn't cut out."

Squinting and leaning in for a closer look, Sam replied, "No teeth marks. What does the medical examiner's report suggest?"

Dean turned for the nearest filing cabinet and in the drawer marked M-T, he found what he was looking for. "Huh. There's no evidence of a weapon being used. The medical examiner thinks someone used his or her hand."

"So, this _is _our kind of job." With a look of disgust, Sam recovered poor Harold and slid the drawer closed.

"What was the first victim's name?" Dean moved back to the filing cabinet.

"Stacey Cappola." Sam watched as Dean looked through the files.

Pulling one out, he read silently for a few moments, "More of the same in this file. She's in drawer 2."

Sam opened the drawer and uncovered the body. "The wound is similar."

Knowing they had gathered all the information available, the brothers replaced what they had disturbed and left the morgue. After a quick thank you to Reed, they headed outside to the Impala.

Sam turned questioning eyes towards his brother, "Hey, Dean. Why Langly?"

Dean laughed, "Byers is the best looking of the bunch, Frohike is kinda short, but Langly, he's got all that girly hair. So, naturally, he made me think of you."

Sam stopped walking. "Who are Byers, Frohike, and Langly?"

Dean stared at his brother in amazement, "You're kidding me, right? And here I thought I was giving you a break by not using names of musicians. It's a shame you know so much and yet so little. Two words, Sammy: Lone Gunmen."

With that, Dean continued walking to the car. Sam, still looking perplexed, eventually followed.

SPNSPNSPN

Sam looked up from his laptop as Dean, wearing an ear to ear grin, entered the motel room hours later. He tossed two folders onto the table, took off his coat, and threw himself in the chair across from Sam.

Sam glowered at his brother, "Took you long enough." He reached for the folders, flipping open the one on top.

"What can I say? Jenny was a very chatty girl. It would have been rude to con her into giving me the police reports and then run. By the way, if we're still in town this weekend, I'll be busy Saturday night."

"So, I'm guessing this Jenny is the receptionist at the Sheriff's office?" Sam didn't know how his brother did it. He had the amazing ability to charm information, apparently including copies of police reports, out of almost any female. Which, with their job, was a very handy ability.

"Yes, and she was just jumping at the chance to help out a newbie reporter from the local news station." Dean picked up the second folder and began reading the contents. "Stacey Coppola, found in her apartment by a concerned neighbor. They worked together and when Stacey didn't show up, the neighbor used a spare key to let herself in. She was last seen by her therapist the night before. The cops suspected Stacey's ex. After the divorce, the husband got the kid, and Stacey was trying to get the kid back. But, there weren't any signs of breaking and entering and the place was locked up tight."

"Well, Harold Randolph was found in his car outside of Lakeside Realty, where his wife works. He was last seen by his wife, who said they were arguing in the parking lot about marriage counseling. The cops think both Harold and Stacey were killed by the same suspect." Sam put the folder back on the table. "As for what did this, there are just too many possibilities. Apparently, taking someone's heart is a common M.O. I've checked all the usual web-sites, Dad's journal, and even called Bobby."

Dean ran a hand over his head. "We need a witness."

Sam sighed, "That or a connection between the two."

SPNSPNSPN

Once again, Emily Sullivan found herself staring at the bottom of an empty shot glass at closing time. Too many nights ended the same way since she lost her sister. But drowning her sorrows only worked until the hang-over started. Then, drinking only seemed to compound her misery.

Noticing the bartender was the only other person left in the bar, Emily slid off the stool and wobbled cautiously to the door. The cool night air refreshed her somewhat, and she figured if she drove slow enough, she might be able to make it home in one piece. And if she didn't? At this point, she couldn't care less.

She searched her purse for her car keys only to drop them to the ground as soon as she had them in hand. Emily bent to pick them up and in the same instant she was tackled to the ground. Splayed on her back, she watched in terror as a shadowy figure straddled her, pinning her to the ground.

Unsure whether it was the alcohol or her fear impairing her vision, she couldn't see the face of her attacker. Not sure if it was even possible, he or she seemed to be nothing more than a shadow with substance.

However, all her thoughts flew from her mind when the pain began. Her tears fell as white hot fire exploded in her chest and her shrill screams shattered the stillness of the night. Then Emily knew no more.

SPNSPNSPN

"Look, I already told all this to the cops this morning. Do I have to go through it again?" Sam and Dean, impersonating FBI agents again, found the bartender as he was setting up the bar for the lunch crowd.

"Mr. Turner, it would be helpful if you went over the story one more time, for us. You may remember more details." Sam waited patiently, pen and notepad in hand.

"Fine. The lady left as I began cleaning up. She's not gone more than a few minutes when I hear these awful screams…I get outside and she's on the ground, blood everywhere." Mr. Turner paled as he recalled the images from the night before.

"Did you see or hear anything else?" Sam questioned gently.

The bartender shifted his eyes to the floor, "Just what I told you."

Dean impatiently cut in, "You sure you didn't see anything unusual, weird, freaky?"

Sam shot his brother an exasperated look.

Under his breath, Mr. Turner whispered, "It couldn't have been real."

Sam turned imploring eyes on the bartender, "Please, we need to know everything, no matter how crazy it may sound."

Mr. Turner reached for a glass and poured a healthy dose of whiskey into it. After gulping the glass's contents, he continued. "Okay, there is more. But…I must have been seeing things. I saw a…a man, only he looked like a shadow, you know, there but not. I couldn't see any distinguishing features, just darkness. He had the lady's heart in his hand, and then he…oh, god…I think he ate it. Then he was gone, like he blinked out. And that's all I know, I swear."

"Thank you, Mr. Turner. You've been very helpful." Sam closed his notepad as he and Dean turned to leave the bar.


	2. Chapter 2

The brothers spent the rest of the day and part of the night heavily immersed in research. With the information they had gathered thus far, they were able to narrow down the search.

"I may have found what's been killing these people." At Sam's words, Dean put down the book he was reading and made his way to the table where Sam had been sitting.

"A Gemut Diebin, or roughly translated, heart thief." Glancing back at his laptop, Sam explained, "It is a form of a Shadow Man, a shadowy human-shaped figure that can make itself corporeal when needed. And it only needs to feed every few years."

"That fits with the time of the other deaths that Dad found. What else does it say?" Dean leaned over Sam's shoulder, trying to read the web page for himself.

"They have been known to go after victims who are in great emotional stress. And the bartender was right. They eat the hearts of their victims, the emotional centers. That, essentially, is where they get the energy to sustain their life."

With disgust clear on his face, Dean murmured, "That is wrong on so many levels."

"Stacey Coppola was going through a custody battle, Harold Randolph was about to get divorced, and Emily Sullivan's sister died recently. It's safe to say they fit the victim profile." Sam scrolled down the web page, "To kill the Gemut, it has to be shot in the heart with consecrated iron bullets. Lucky for us, we always have those on hand."

Dean sighed, "How the hell are we going to find this evil sonofabitch?"

Rubbing his strained eyes, Sam replied, "I have no idea."

Dean made his way back to his bed, flicking on the TV as he went. "Is this thing just cruising through town and finding random people?"

"If that's the case, he's gonna be difficult to track. The victim could be anyone, anywhere." Something on the TV caught Sam's attention. "Dean, there's been another murder." Sam pointed at the screen.

Stavrou, Colorado was printed on the bottom of the screen next to the newswoman's name. Dean turned the volume up as she began speaking. "Another death has occurred in this small town. The fourth this week. An unidentified victim was found tonight outside this office building by his very own therapist, just moments after leaving her office."

Switching from the live report to a previously recorded interview, a clearly distraught woman, the afore mentioned therapist, gave the details on what she found outside the building.

"Dean, the therapist! Dr. Spender. She was the last person to see Stacey Coppola alive.

It's in the police report."

"Harold Randolph and his wife were in marriage counseling. Check the file, see if it mentions anything about a therapist." Dean walked back to the table.

Sam picked up the folder and skimmed through the information. "It doesn't name the therapist, but the wife provided the address of the office building where they went for counseling, where Harold was a few hours prior to his death. It's the same building that houses Dr. Spender's office."

"Well, there's a connection between at least three victims. I say we stake out the building and see if we can catch the sonofabitch."

SPNSPNSPN

"We've been watching this building for the better part of two days and nights and we haven't seen a damn thing. You know Sam, it's Saturday night and I could be having a great time with Jenny right now." Dean's frustration was clear in his voice.

Sam knew Dean's irritation stemmed from boredom and restlessness. He just wasn't the kind of guy who was able to sit still for long periods of time. Add to it the fact that this case was going nowhere fast. Sam understood exactly how Dean felt. "You think we were wrong about the connection?"

"No, I mean maybe, I don't know. If he's not picking his victims here, it's one hell of a coincidence that three of them have a connection with this place."

Sam silently stared out the windshield of the car for a while before speaking. "Maybe the Gemut already has a victim lined up."

"Let's hope not, the only chance we have of killing-" Dean stopped mid-sentence as something caught his eye.

Sam followed Dean's eyes towards the alley to the left of the building. "What do you see?"

"I could have sworn I saw something move. Let's check it out." He pulled his gun out from the small of his back and checked the clip, ensuring it was fully loaded. Sam did the same, then handed Dean a flashlight.

Exiting the car as quietly as they could, which thanks to the door hinges wasn't all that quiet, the brothers strode purposely towards the alley, keeping to the shadows. Peering around the corner of the building, they studied the darkness. Dean silently signaled to Sam that he was going in.

Flicking on his flashlight, Dean inspected each possible hiding place as they continued deeper into the alley. They passed a couple of dumpsters and doorways, and still no sign of the Gemut. Once they reached a chain-linked fence, Dean turned back towards the opening of the alley.

Sam stood facing Dean. Examining the shadows, he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Yet, he knew something was there, watching silently. He felt the unseen eyes as they bored into his back. He pivoted on his heel until he also was facing the alley entrance.

Dean could tell by his brother's rigid stance, that he too sensed the predatory presence. Without thinking, he took a few steps, placing himself between Sam and the perceived threat.

As the brothers inched their way back out of the alley, their senses were on the highest alert. Nearing the first dumpster, the nearby shadows seemed to coalesce into a human shape that rivaled Sam's height. The Gemut now stood directly in front of them, slightly more than an arm's length away, blocking the exit.

Sam and Dean lifted their guns and fired simultaneously, aiming for the creature's heart. However, the Gemut blinked out before the bullets ever reached him, only to reappear instantaneously behind Sam.

"Sam!" Dean had barely spoken when, with a great shove, Sam was hurled into Dean and they both tumbled to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs.

"You okay?" Being the first one back on his feet, Dean offered a hand to Sam, all the while searching the darkness for the Gemut.

"Yeah. You?" Sam asked as he was hauled to his feet. A quick survey of the area revealed the creature was once again in hiding.

"I'm fine." Steadying his gun, Dean crept forward. He didn't need to look behind him to know Sam was on his heels. Cautiously, they neared the alley entrance.

Within feet of the corner of the building, freakishly strong hands gripped Sam's shoulders and yanked him backwards. He landed on the ground with enough force to crack his head painfully on the pavement. Blinking to clear his vision, he saw the Gemut leaning over him.

A grunt of pain behind Dean caused him to whirl around, desperately seeking out his brother. "Sam!" He spotted him, flat on his back, a few feet away. His eyes immediately trailed to the shadowy figure looming over his brother. Once again he tried to shoot the Gemut, but it was gone before the bullet ever left the chamber.

Canvassing the alley, Dean quickly made his was to his brother. Running his hands over his dazed brother, he noticed a knot forming on the back of Sam's head. When his hand came away wet, he said with concern, "Sammy, your head's bleeding."

Rebuffing Dean's attempted ministrations, Sam climbed to his feet. Tenderly touching his head, he replied, "M'okay. The damn Gemut is just playing with us."

Dean sighed in resignation, "He's had enough fun with us for tonight. And unless we can talk him into standing still until one of our bullets hits him, we need to find a better way to take him out. Let's get out of here and take care of that head of your's." With his hand on his brother's shoulder, he led them both back to the car without further incident.

SPNSPNSPN

"Ouch!" Sam hissed in pain.

"Sam, things will go a lot easier if you just hold still until I'm done cleaning your cut." After making Sam take a few ibuprofen for his headache and to help with the swelling, Dean had set about cleaning the abrasion on his brother's head.

"I told you I'm fine." Sam stubbornly replied.

Ignoring the protest from his brother, Dean made sure the cut was as thoroughly cleaned as possible, then set about making an ice pack with one of the motel towels. "Sure you are, but just humor me. Put this ice on your head and let me check you for a concussion."

"Dean. I'm. Fine." Cleary enunciating each word, Sam glared at his big brother.

Smiling at him in amusement, Dean commented, "I forgot how grumpy you get when you have a headache." Once he was sure Sam wasn't concussed, he suggested, "Why don't you lie down and get some rest, it'll help with your grumpiness."

Sam rolled his eyes, "You know you're a pain in the ass, right?" As much as he would hate to prove Dean right, his head was pounding and rest did sound like a pretty good idea. Within moments of lying down, he was asleep.

Dean wandered over to the laptop on the table. He figured now was as good a time as any for him to begin looking for another possible way to get rid of the Gemut.

After unsuccessfully searching the internet for hours, Dean ran both hands over his face tiredly. Sam was the best researcher he knew, and if he only found one way to kill the creature then chances were Dean wouldn't find another way. But still he searched, until his eyelids drooped and his head slowly sank onto his arm on the table.

SPNSPNSPN

With a sharp intake of air, Dean sat up abruptly. Fully alert, his eyes scanned the dimly lit room, searching for whatever it was that had awoken him. Hearing the familiar deep, even breathing of his brother across the room, he knew Sam was still asleep.

After a few more moments, and no odd sounds or movements, Dean relaxed. He wiped a hand down his face and shut down the laptop. As he was making his way towards his bed, he heard it. A soft whisper of movement that didn't belong. It seemed to have come from the back of the room, the area the meager light from the lamp did not reach.

Cautiously approaching the shadows with his gun in hand, he glanced worriedly at his helpless sleeping brother. That distraction cost him, for as he turned towards the shadows once again, his eyes weren't able to register quick enough what he was seeing. The Gemut raced from the darkness and ran head-on into him.

Dean slammed into the carpeted floor, the breath knocked out of him. Unable to call out to Sam, Dean raised his gun with the intention to kill the creature. However, the Gemut, which had straddled him by this time, was faster and had Dean's wrist in a vise-like grip.

Dean desperately tried to retain his grip on his gun as the Gemut slammed his hand repeatedly into the floor. With his wrist bones grinding painfully together from a combination of the pressure of the creature's grip and the force of the blows, the gun slid from his hand.

Still trying to catch his breath, Dean threw punch after punch in an attempt to throw the Gemut off of him. Unfortunately for him, his effort had no effect on the creature. And it wasn't long before the Gemut's hand found it's way to the center of Dean's chest.

"Sam!" With the pressure building over his heart, Dean was finally able to croak out his brother's name in a weak voice. As the pain became nearly intolerable, tears sprang unbidden to his eyes. The Gemut's hand had torn through his shirt and was digging into his skin. He could feel a warm, sticky wetness slipping down the sides of his chest.

Sam awoke to his brother's pain-filled voice calling his name. His leaped out of bed, immediately aware the Dean was in trouble even before his brain was able to consciously assess the situation. Standing above the Gemut and his brother while they fought, Sam picked up the Dean's previously dropped gun and aimed for the creature's heart.

Just when something in Dean's chest started to give, two shots broke the relative silence of the room. The Gemut reared back and let loose an ear-splitting scream. With the last of his energy, Dean shoved the creature off to the side. As soon as it hit the floor, the Gemut dissolved into a pile of ash.

Sam watched as Dean fell back, gasping for breath. Seeing the crimson blood soaking into his brother's shirt, he quickly put the gun down and knelt next to Dean to examine his wounds. His brother's face was crumpled in pain and his eyes were closed tight as he cradled his right wrist to his chest.

"Dean, you with me, man?" Sam asked anxiously.

"Yeah." Dean raggedly whispered.

"Good, don't move. I'm going to get the first aid kit." Within seconds, Sam was back at his brother's side. Gently moving Dean's damaged wrist to the side, Sam finally got a clear look at his chest. Although it was still sluggishly bleeding and bruising had already become apparent, the wound itself didn't appear all that bad.

"I need to clean this before I bandage it, okay?" As he talked, Sam pulled out the required supplies.

"Do whatever you have to, Sammy." Dean rasped in a flat, gritty voice.

Moving Dean's t-shirt out of the way, Sam carefully wiped off all the blood he could and used hydrogen peroxide to clean the wound. After using antibiotic ointment and taping on a bandage, he carefully lifted Dean's wrist.

After a few moments of inspection, Sam sighed with relief, "I don't think it's broken."

Dean finally opened his eyes. "No, it hurts like hell, but it's not broken." While Sam put together an ice pack for his brother's wrist, Dean managed to sit up, leaning his back against one of the beds. Grimacing, he rubbed his chest with his good hand.

"Here, wrap this around your wrist." Taking the ice pack that Sam handed to him, Dean did as he was told.

"Sam, we got to get out of here." Grasping Sam's offered hand and stifling a groan, Dean allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. "Someone might have heard-"

Sam interrupted, "I think we're okay, it's been a while. If the cops were gonna show, they'd be here by now. Besides, if anyone did hear the gunshot, they probably assumed it was a car back-firing."

Taking in the sight of his brother, slightly hunched-over from the pain in his chest, Sam continued, "Dean, let's get some sleep. It's been a long day."

Gesturing towards the mess on the floor that used to be the Gemut, Dean started, "What about-"

Smiling, Sam quipped, "We could leave it for the maids. Imagine them trying to figure out where the mess came from."

Dean laughed, then frowned and grabbed his chest, "Ugh, remind me not laugh anytime in the near future."

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for reading, let me know what you thought of the story. All criticisms and praises are welcome._


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